My chest constricts and I close my eyes. That should be me in there, helping that couple, magicking them into the book. But I can’t. All I can do is lead someone to finding their perfect read. I can’t transport them inside, because, you know, no magic and all.
I open my eyes and exhale, pressing my fingers hard against the glass. Theresa’s gaze drifts up and she sees me.
I back away and move on, heading to the house that I once called home.
4
My legs are heavy by the time I reach the steps of the Tudor-style house. All the houses in Castleview are similar—stone Tudors that stretch out along the sides and back, topped with thatched roofs that occasionally house a bird nest or two, which adds to the charm, I suppose.
I climb the stairs, and the hibiscus guard-vine that winds around the top of the porch uncoils, dipping down to greet me.
An orange flower sniffs my face tentatively. “Yes, it’s me. I know it’s been too long.” The blossom gently nips at my nose, a silent scolding. “I’ll be sure to pet you a lot while I’m home.”
The blossom dips in sublimation, and I stroke the soft petals.
The door flies open, and my aunt Ovie opens her arms. I turn away from the vine and sink into her, tears leaking from my eyes.
“Shh, I know. None of us expected it.”
There’s no telling how long she holds me, how long I sobonto her shoulders, drenching her shirt. She doesn’t seem to care, and for that I’m grateful.
It’s only after my nose is stopped up and my head feels like a balloon that I take a step back, knuckling the tears away. “She knew, though. She told me tonight that she was tired.”
Ovie smiles sadly. She’s small like me, with a dynamo personality, almost like an extra spunky Kristen Chenoweth, witch-style.
“I’m sorry we weren’t there to greet you in town,” she says, pulling me inside. “No one can find it in themselves to leave.”
“It’s fine. The walk helped ground me.”
The house hasn’t changed one bit. Gray and brown stones line the walls, and a small fire burns in the hearth. A witch never knows when she’ll need to brew something, so the fire’s always on.
“Come on. They’re in back with…her.”
Ovie leads me into the bowels of the cottage. I spot Blair first. Her dark hair’s long and sleek, framing her soft brown eyes as it falls over one of her shoulders. She wears jeans and a black corseted blouse that accentuates her trim figure. My sister exhales a loud sigh and rushes over.
“Sorry I didn’t meet you.”
“It’s okay.”
When she hugs me, the smell of lavender and lemon waft off her, clouding around me. I inhale her comforting scent as we both cry.
“Nana wouldn’t want us getting all sloppy like this.” She pulls away, eyes wet with tears, and glances over her shoulder. “Get over here,” she commands my other sisters. “Addie’s here.”
“Addie,” Chelsea says, her blonde hair hanging in loose, relaxed waves around her rounded face. “You’re home.”
My stomach tightens at the wordhome,because even though it is my home, I’ve never felt like I belonged, whichisn’t my family’s fault. They always make me feel welcome. In fact, my parents didn’t want me to move to Nashville to be with humans. But I’ve always felt more like a human than a witch.
“How’s the city?” Chelsea asks.
It’s obvious why she’s making small talk. No one wants to focus on Nana. Sometimes keeping yourself busy is the best way to deal with tragedy.
Before I can answer, she adds, “Nana always said that cities were only good for two things?—”
We say in unison, “Forgetting who you are and where you come from.”
Itwaswhat she always said, and there’s truth in it. It’s easy to melt into the background in a big place. But Chelsea saying those words makes fresh tears pool in our eyes.
We hug and my nose stops up even more, if that’s possible.
